“Not that I care,” Eleanor said in an tone that carried to Maggie’s ears alone, “but if you don’t get out of those clothes, you’ll die of pneumonia.”

Maggie was damned if she’d die of pneumonia or anything else and leave Eleanor a clear path to Reeve’s affections. She snatched up a blanket of her own and stormed over to the innkeeper’s wife, who directed her into the kitchen. It was too busy a place for Maggie’s liking, so she found a pantry and slipped inside to take off her clothes and wrap herself in the blanket. Soon, standing as far as she could from Eleanor without leaving the warmth of the fire, she was sipping tea with the others.

“Mrs. McKenna is expecting a child,” Eleanor told the mistress of the small inn forthrightly. “Is there a place where she could lie down?”

“I don’t want to lie down,” Maggie protested, but the fact of the matter was that she felt a bit dizzy, on top of having a sore throat and a pounding headache. A sneeze loud enough to shake the rafters escaped her.

“There, you see,” clucked Eleanor, grasping Maggie officiously by the arm. “She’s already falling ill.”

“Two and six for the room,” said the innkeeper’s wife, leading the way upstairs to a little chamber under the slant of the roof. Maggie was dragged along after her by Eleanor, who was stronger than she might have suspected.

The narrow bed looked warm and inviting, though the room was musty and the rain hammered furiously at the roof. Maggie shed her blanket and her damp camisole and drawers once she and Eleanor were alone in the room, and crawled under the covers.

The walls seemed to undulate, and Maggie closed her eyes. Within moments she’d lapsed into a queer state halfway between waking and sleeping, and she began to feel too warm. Every time she tossed back the covers, however, strong, deft hands replaced them again.

By nightfall, Maggie was burning with fever.

Reeve had found few things impossible in the course of his life, but prying that coach from the mud was that and more. Finally, an early darkness set in, and there was nothing to do but unhitch the exhausted team and ride on to the inn. He arrived with the angry driver, Duncan, and all his men hours after the women had been brought in.

Cora, Eleanor, and Elisabeth were all sitting at one of the inn’s trestle tables. Elisabeth was looking through a picture book, while Cora and Eleanor played cards.

“Where’s Maggie?” Reeve demanded instantly.

Eleanor stood up gracefully and swept through the crowd of sodden men to stand facing Reeve. “She’s resting. You must get out of those clothes, Mr. McKenna. After all, you’re not well.”